Whisper
by Rabbit-impudent guttersnipe
Summary: Post Redefinition. Wesley/The Host. Sometimes a prescient, anagogic demon is the only place to turn.


Summary: Sometimes, a prescient, anagogic demon is the only place to turn.

Rating: R ish

Spoilers: Reunion/kind of an alternate Redefinition, but forget that annoying roundhead Virginia. (Who if she did marry Wesley, would have been Virginia Bryce Wyndham Pryce. Now you see why it didn't work out.)

Notes: written for challenge #175 at http://bastardgenres.com/bafa/stones.html

lyrics from Whisper by Morphine

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Whisper by Rabbit

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"What about this one, toss him out?"  


A weary sigh. "No, I'll take care of this one."  


A pressure on his shoulder caused Wesley Wyndham Pryce to look up from the surface of the table his face was resting on. A smooth surface it was, and very cool against his cheek.   


Unfortunately, the unyielding surface enabled his nearly unconscious, sprawling weight to press his nose against the table. It felt like it was dislocated, smashed flat like some cartoon character… when cartoons were still good… Classic. Not like today, when they were all small flying girls or ridiculously collectible beasts with unpronounceable names and high commercial resale value. Back then, they were all clever cats and mice or very fast birds or persistent, yet ineffectual canines. They weren't afraid to show violence, but everything was resolved in the end. They made the troubles of everyday life seem so far away.  


"Hey sugar, looking for some Angel food…we're not serving that tonight. Haven't had any for a week or more."  


The rich tones of the owner of this establishment drifted around his head and he closed his eyes in order to pin down the exact location. Hearing was the one sense he still trusted, because when he opened his eyes, the room developed the funny habit of tilting at the craziest angles.  


"No, I'm not looking for *him*" the denial sounded a little too vehement even to his own ears. Damn. Stern voice, stone face. No ripples in the pond. Studied nonchalance. That was the key then, wasn't it? Because he *didn't * care. He really didn't.  


"Well, you didn't come here for the appetizers." The sound of the demon's voice faded and returned as he, judging from the accompanying clatter of chairs being set on the tables and a broom's bristles scraping over the floor, surveyed the clean up crew repairing the night's damage.  


Wesley opened his eyes and grabbed the blue sleeve of the fellow's dinner jacket in earnest desperation. "I want to sing for you. I want you to tell me what's in my future now that …" He didn't need to complete the sentence. His own confusion and uncertainty over his newfound unemployed status were evident in every syllable. That slight catch that belied his need for a hero to follow instead of taking on that role himself. "Tell me what I need to do now."  


The crash of a chair sliding from its precarious balancing act on one of the tables made Wes jump. When a radio perched on the bar top sputtered to life, sending the sudden blare of salsa music shrieking through the air, the Overlord of Caritas shook his head.  


"It's no good here." He waggled his hands on either side of his ears, indicating the warring background atmosphere and the difficulty it presented when attempting intimate conversation. "We'll have to take this little party elsewhere, hmn?"  


He must not have expected an answer from Wesley, because he immediately stood up and addressed one of the workers behind the bar as he pushed his chair in under the table's edge. "Thomas, be a doll. I'm outta here, make me a '57 Chevy with a white license plate."  


"No, really," came the reply.  


A beat. "You know what I've just noticed about my hand…there's no glass in it? Less of the talking and more of the drink making?" The demon slashed his hand, palm upward at the man in a semi authoritative gesture.  


"You're the boss." Skeptical acknowledgement from one who felt his job was *not* in jeopardy.  


A look of stunned wonderment with just a touch of mockery came over the green tinged features. "You know…I am!" the Host turned around and put a strong arm underneath Wesley's, pulling him to his feet. "We need somewhere with a little less attitude…I know just the place."  


Wesley felt some of the effects of the alcohol leave him as he stood up and felt his body engage in activity. 'Walk it off' as his father used to say. Trite advice it was, but somehow efficient in this circumstance. His head felt at least somewhat clearer and the room had stopped spinning. Much better than the giddy, out of body dizziness he'd been contending with earlier. Now if he could just follow the demon with out tripping over his own feet, half the battle would be won. Wesley put one foot forward to follow his guide, but stopped to wait as the anagogic demon accepted a glass filled with white liquid and blew the bartender an air kiss.   


Once on their way, Wes was quickly led to a small hallway near the back of the establishment, past the restrooms. When they reached a red door with a prominently lettered sign reading: Private, the owner of Caritas slipped a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. As he raised his glass for another sip, the demon twisted the key smoothly and pushed the door inward.  


The first thing Wesley noticed was the color the walls were painted; a deep, rich eggplant shade that wrapped around him as he stepped across the threshold. They stood in a small entryway with a narrow stairway leading upward.  


On the right hand side, just above a mahogany chaise was a pair of niches recessed into the wall. A spotlight at the top of each highlighted a bronze cast figure: one, a supple girl poised to begin a dance in blissful concentration, the second a young winged lad with cupid's bow balanced horizontally across his hips. Charming was the first word to come to mind.  


The Host surveyed Wesley's first reaction to his dwelling with mild amusement, but put a hand on his arm when he moved to ascend the stairs.  


"Not the shoes dear, never the shoes."  


Wesley looked back to see the demon slipping off his own leather footwear and carefully lining them up in front of the chaise.  


"One of my little idiosyncrasies, I can't stand the thought of germs being tracked all over," the demon explained without the slightest hint of apology.  


Wesley obliged the request, positioning himself on the cushions of the seat and raising one foot to the opposite knee. After untying the laces, he placed them alongside the pair already there on the floor.  


Images of Angel came unbidden to his mind at the fastidious request and he pushed them away. Wesley Wyndham Pryce had existed perfectly fine before meeting the vampire and would continue to do so post firing.  


At the top of the stairs, he could see the same moody, chromatic theme carried on. The intimacy of the space was amplified by the lush color and very mellow lighting did much to lend a mysterious, decadent air. A chrome bar stretched out into the center of the room.  


The demon gestured towards the bar.  


"No thanks," Wesley declined the offer. " I think I'd better hold where I am."  


After a nod of agreement, the fellow walked over, pulled out a few bottles and poured some vodka and Cointreau into a silver, bullet shaped shaker over a few tinkling shards of ice. He followed that with a splash of rosy cranberry juice and a squeeze of half a lime.   


Wesley did raise an eyebrow when the demon before he gave it seven hard shakes over his right shoulder and quickly poured it into a triangular glass. But he continued to watch silently.  


"You seem a little…surprised?" the demon said, correctly reading Wes' body language.  


"Not surprised, " he stammered, embarrassed at seeming rude. "You're just…you're very skilled at that."  


A small laugh escaped those lips. "Do you think I just woke up one day and fell into a demon karaoke bar in LA? I had to work my way up." He sampled his concoction and blinked his eyes slowly in appreciation before continuing, "I had to sleep with a rich old goat and he bought it for me"  


He walked over to a plum, velvet couch and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him and draping his arms along the back of the cushions, the glass dangled carelessly from his fingers. "And I do mean a goat. He was a Capra demon, with horns," he used his free hand to make an elaborate swirl in the air miming a mountain goat's silhouette. "Always went Nyeeehhht, when he came."  


He blinked at Wesley's curious and slightly shocked expression. "I'm kidding…about the horn part," he added with a wink.  


Wesley didn't know how to react to this kind of teasing. With Cordelia it was like belittling a sibling (do you have any clothes a girl wouldn't wear), Gunn just made comments questioning his manhood and Angel? Well Angel's attempts at humor were few and far between and they were usually over before Wesley even realized what was happening. This, dare he say it, flirtatious chatter was something he hadn't experienced in a few years. He'd never been very good at it, always so awkward and self-conscious.  


He hoped he wasn't too obvious in his inexperience. His original purpose for coming here escaped him at the moment.  


"Now, let's get down to it. Pick a CD there."  


"Oh yes, right." Wesley studied the titles lined up on the shelf. The small type seemed to dance and weave before his eyes; he was having a devil of a time making sense of any of them.  


"No, honey. Don't *look* at them. Close your eyes and just pick one." When he noticed Wesley's confusion, the demon clarified, "Just point, you'll instinctively pick the right one. The one that says what most needs saying."  


Wesley obeyed, squeezing his lids shut and blindly shoving his fingers in what he hoped was the right direction, until he came in contact with one of the cases. He slid it from the rack and held it up triumphantly.  


"Marvelous sweetie, just put it in the machine and hit the random play button," the demon instructed.  


"But I don't think I know the words to this one," Wesley complained, looking skeptically at the square of hard plastic he held in his hands. He started to feel the first jump of nerves in his stomach; he'd always had a slight fear of *speaking* in public, let alone singing. Trudging blindly into it might not be the best game plan if one wanted to avoid looking completely foolish.  


"You will when you start singing," Caritas' host assured him, taking another sip of his martini. "Take a deep breathe and push the button, then we'll see what's in store for you gorgeous."  


Wesley fitted the disk in the circular compartment and gently nudged the tray closed. He pushed the button and straightened up, taking a big breath as he faced The Host. The swirling crescendo of a saxophone filled the space, accompanied by a bass line that instinctually caused his hips to rock back and forth. A gravelly voice started singing and it was surprisingly easy to follow the words, they just poured out of him.  


"Don't worry, I'm not looking at you

…gorgeous and dressed in blue."  


The demon smiled at a cosmic sense of humor that aligned his wardrobe choice with Wesley's lyric selection and took another sip of his drink.  


"I know it drives you crazy when I pretend 

you don't exist, when I'd like to lean in close

and run my hand against your lips."   


Wesley had no idea why his subconscious, or whatever, would have chosen such an obviously sensual song. It was something one would sing to a lover, not to an anagogic demon who was trying to see your future, but the words continued to flow out of him.  


"Though we haven't even spoken…

still I sense there's a rapport.

So whisper me your number 

I'll call you up at home. " 

The karaoke host had a strange look of disbelief on his face. He shifted slightly on the couch and Wesley wondered what future secrets were unfolding in the demon's mind. Was it something dire? It was hard to tell, but the fellow didn't seem too upset.  


"When there's nothing more I'd like to do

Then come in close and hear you laugh."  


The dim lights and one note color of the room made the vivid, startling red of his eyes seem penetrating, hypnotic in their unique biology. Wesley couldn't remember ever seeing a creature with that particular eye color before and it was mirrored in the small horns that protruded from his forehead and his strong lips. Lips that would be firm and slightly warm when pressed against his.  


"Whisper me your number."

Now where had that thought come from?

"I'll call you up at home."  


He must still be feeling the affects of the alcohol, more so than he'd realized. And the stuffiness of the room, that surely had something to do with it? Had he thought it charming before…more like claustrophobic.  


"That's enough."  


Sudden relief rocked through him as he quickly pushed the question of boxers or briefs away. "You got a reading?"  


"No, I said that's enough, because with the vibes you're giving off, I can't see anything that doesn't involve this couch and a large pile of clothes right about there." Light winked off of the circle of metal on the ring finger of the demon's left hand as he pointed to a spot on the carpet about three feet to his left.  


Wesley felt himself go stiff, mortified when he remembered that this creature was a mind reader and probably knew every last, salacious thought that was running through his head. Surely it wasn't too much to ask that he drop-dead right now, where was a lightening bolt when you needed it?  


"Poor thing," the demon crooned. "You're taking this break up with the Big Broody One harder than you thought you would, aren't you?"  


"Well I certainly don't know what you're…" as the realization of just what the demon meant sank in, Wesley sputtered in indignation. "Ours is a professional relationship. If you're trying to imply that I'm…I'm…"  


"Pining for him," The Host supplied.  


"Absolutely not, I'll have you know that I have a rich and varied social life with multiple companions. I've barely noticed his absence."  


"Sure, that's why you're here singing your heart out kid." He shook his head and patted the seat beside him. "Sit down."  


Wesley did and was momentarily distracted by the shiny blue fabric of the demon's jacket. It undulated when he moved, like the scales of some tropical, silvery fish. The effect was quite fascinating and he had to mentally shake himself out of his stupor, curious as to what the anagogic psychic had to say.  


"It's not bad to want companionship, you've got a lot to offer someone. I just think you'd be in for less of a roller coaster ride if you set your sites on someone besides a vampire with a soul. That Super Friends gig doesn't leave much time to devote to someone else." The voice held more than a trace of sympathy.  


Someone feeling sorry for him?  


Someone other than himself?  


It was a new experience for him. Cordelia had been all too vocal about how screwed she was, how acting jobs were few and far between and she wasn't getting any younger and her boobs weren't going to stand at attention for the rest of her life. It had started to give him a headache, like the shrill whine of the drill at the dentist, boring deeper and deeper until you were hollowed out and waiting to be filled by the putty that was Cordelia Chase's opinion. She'd seemed to forget that he was in the same boat.  


And Gunn. He'd just shrugged in indifference and went on his way. He didn't need a vampire with a soul to strive to keep the city safe; he'd been doing that on his own for years.  


That was what he envied Gunn for: that independent, lone wolf streak. Wesley's stint as a rogue demon hunter had been one of the loneliest times of his life. He just craved that sense of belonging, that sense of teamwork that came with having others with a similar purpose. And at least with friends, he wasn't constantly revisiting his dismal romantic life, or more accurately, lack of one. And he wouldn't be here making a fool of himself with a mind reading demon who was probably trying his hardest not to laugh at him.  


"I'm not laughing at you," he assured Wesley.  


The echo of the very thoughts that had been tumbling around in his brain brought a peevish inflection to his answer. "Stop doing that, I thought you only read someone's mind when they're singing?"  


A small laugh. "I can't, you're just an open book angel face." The demon took the last sip of his drink and deposited the empty glass on an end table before turning back to face Wesley.  


Seized by madness or impetuous stupidity, Wesley swayed forward and kissed the lips he'd been thinking about earlier. He wiggled his tongue forward and the alcohol that remained on the demon's palate trickled into his mouth. A small bit dribbled past the seal of their lips and Wesley licked it from The Host's chin before drawing away, amazed at his own boldness.  


"This is not usually the kind of reading I give," the demon said with amusement.  


Wesley wiped away a few drops of liquor from his mouth with the back of his hand. "I suppose you knew I was going to do that all along?"  


"Not until you started singing, actually…and major props to you for having the guts to carry through with that. Downstairs? It was just too chaotic to get any kind of reading at all."  


Fighting waves of self-consciousness, Wesley reached out for the buttons of his companion's shirt.  


Looking down as the human undid the first button, The Host said, "Whoa, I think it's time we poured you into a cab sweetie. Not that this isn't going in a fabulous direction…" he tapped his temple with an index finger, "…because I've seen the teleplay, but you might not be fully aware of your decisions tonight."  


There was no physical protest as Wesley continued his quest, unfastening one closure after another. He chose to ignore words and cling to the heady feeling of exploration that seized him, the illusion that he's daring or courageous and perhaps even…seductive?  


Before he knew it shirt and jacket were pushed aside and there was no further resistance, which just pushed his fear of rejection a little farther away. The first thing Wesley noticed was a horizontal shading of deep green pigment that slashed down the torso, starting between nipples and ending just above the beltline.  


The edges of this variegation blurred and melted into the rest of his skin tone in gradual subtle changes, drawn by a creator whose grasp of light, shadow and shading were mastered perfection. His areolas, where humans, or even Angel's were pink or deep rose, were the same stark hue, noticeably standing out against the lighter green of his skin.  


The white, half moon of Wesley's nails seemed to glow against the alien physique. When he realized that in his nervousness, he was applying a substantial amount of pressure, he removed his fingers…watched the skin blanche and fill in as the blood returned.  


"Still think this is a good idea?" Smooth tones from a throat still able to voice them.  


A nod, because words had suddenly flown beyond Wesley's grasp.  


The evening became a swirling barrage of images and sensations, playing over and over like a continually looped tape. Muscles tensed as fingers explored the most sensitive anatomy of human and demon. Limbs were stretched and flexed, while backs arched and rippled, trying to provide the flexibility needed to search every inch of a newly discovered partner. When Wesley brushed the back of his knuckles against the extremely tactile inch of skin between the base of a cock and anus, a gasp shuddered through the demon and a pattern of gooseflesh popped out from the green dermis, causing hundreds of tiny hairs to shoot up in attention.  


Encouraged, Wesley brought his nose down and inhaled the musky scent that seemed to permeate the small room. His nose skimmed down a chest, through the scratchy hair at the pubic bone and further, he buried his nose in the soft, velvet skin of the scrotum. He was delighted as he felt toes curl against him, proving that he wasn't the only one enjoying this interlude. This was heavenly. Wesley wanted to taste everything about this new lover and he would not be deterred.   


There were many things Wesley loved about oral sex, he tried to reproduce each one of them as he hovered over the demon's form: the wet trail of a tongue on the underside of an erect cock while it tried not to break the seal of mouth and skin, the perfect "O" of lips curled back to protect against sharp teeth while the tip and then entire length of said organ disappeared one more time, the hollowing of cheeks as friction increased with each slow intake of engorged length, the reciprocation of a lover's fingers making a tight circle that slid rigidly over your swollen flesh.  


Pleasure was spelled out by low groans and whispered pleas, that weren't inhibited by the awkward reality of a first tryst. Revered endearments were spoken against straining thighs and gritted teeth, while hands quickly and desperately positioned and supported, stroked and teased until there could be no more holding back. Privileges begged, permissions granted. A sudden shift in location preceded a cool stickiness and the gliding pressure as he expanded slowly…bearing down to take just a little bit of someone else more deeply inside himself.  


'Oh God' and various other whimpered exaltations of bliss flowed intimately between them as they collapsed against each other. Wesley reached up to graze chin, nose, horns with still shaking fingers and smiled when he was rewarded with a hard kiss, still passionate after all of that.  


"What did you see in my future…this?" Wesley glanced down, smiling at the tangle of their limbs.  


"I saw my future…and you delightfully naked. But it wasn't tonight." He chuckled at Wesley's quizzical look. "My vision was 20 years from now. You and I…just like this." 


End file.
